I woke up this morning and I thought of you. Of course I thought of you. Not a clinging, smothering kind, but a longing one.
Because when morning arrives, I remember sometimes hearing you breathe beside me. I love watching your face, for a minute, so innocent, without a smile yet, just a plain face, just like the sun in its first few shy moments of rising behind the mountains. I love you are shirtless. I love having cheap coffee and cheap bread for breakfast with you. During those times, you talk more than me. There’s a calm confidence, I notice, which is lovely, and comforting, because in a group you talk less. I love it when you feel confident. The sun shows off its white brightness now.
Then it sets. It goes somewhere we don’t see.
So we walk in the darkness, under the rain, with artificial lights and noise around us. But I don’t notice. I only feel the cold, soft drops of rain on my skin, and you near me.
When morning is replaced by night, I love looking into your eyes and I love you looking into my eyes. Dream-like realities sweep me off my feet, in slow motion. You were sipping your beer, I was locking my gaze to you, and I wanted you nearer. I love when you laugh at how I eat or how I burp. We walk, we sit, we walk again, we sit again, then we walk in the darkness, under the rain, without umbrella or caps or raincoats, with heavy backpacks, with heavy longing to seep inside your skin. We stop at a street with no name. I tell you something. You ask me something. You tell me many things.
Then silence sets, then you kiss me, so tenderly. I hug you and tell you I will miss you. My voice cracks as my eyes, which love looking into your eyes, wet. You look at me. I fought for my tears not to stream down my face. Then you kiss me again. I hug you tighter. I thought you didn’t hear me the first time, so in a louder voice, I tell you again I will miss you. You said you will miss me too. We kiss as cars pass, as people walk by, as rats run and squeak, as rain pours, and I don’t care, I don’t care.
Because when night arrives, I remember we lock lips and eyes and bodies, and I forget the rest.
I don’t want to get off the cab but I have to. You say good night, I say buonanotte.
I love it when it rains at night.